Angry Whispers
by Tearoom Saloon
Summary: Molly agrees to help Lestrade on a case without consulting Sherlock first. He's okay with that, right? No. He's furious.


Prompt from iamazonian: Molly's help is enlisted by The Yard, and she says yes w/o Sherlock's consent. He's furious (for her safety, but he tries to hide that.).

* * *

"You said _yes?_"

Sherlock Holmes was storming around his flat like a newly awaken grizzly bear. His hair was still mussed from his (short) sleep, eyes bloodred, and dressing gown hanging awkwardly off his shoulders. He was livid.

"Of course I said yes! I don't have to—to _consult_ you about every decision I make! Besides, why do you care so much?"

"Because I—" he stopped, glaring. "No reason."

"Oh, you _must_ have a reason." Molly was on her feet now, almost as furious. This was the third time this month he'd pitched a fit over some small thing she'd done, without explanation. He wasn't going to get off the hook about it this time.

"I'd rather not share."

"_Sherlock!_"

"None of your business."

"It's _completely_ my business! It's about me! I took the job; I said yes to Greg, I'd help. They're short staffed, they need me right now!"

"I don't want you involved with my work."

"You, you _dare _say that? After all the cases I've helped you with. After _all_ the endless nights I've assisted you in the morgue or in the lab or even here, pouring over papers and evidence and body parts, reopening body bags, reexamining corpuses. And you have the _audacity_ to tell me you don't want me involved? Fine. _Fine_." She stormed out of the room, slamming the bedroom door shut so hard it rattled in the frame. She twisted the lock harder than necessary and sank down to the floor, fighting back angry tears.

She hated angry tears.

It was quiet. The air had ceased stirring around her, and she could hear the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. Sherlock had stopped pacing as well and the floorboards had stopped creaking. It was a mock peaceful moment. Quiet until the sobs wracked her chest.

"Molly." His voice was soft, just beyond the door. "Molly, can I come in please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"I said no. You're not getting off the hook again this time. I'm angry."

"Then why are you crying?"

A new fervor overcame her and she stood, unlocking the door and pulling it open. "You do not get everything you want, Sherlock Holmes. You _do __**not**_. Most of all, you do not get the satisfaction of me becoming your plaything, doing what you want when you say with no questions asked. I am not a doll."

She slammed the door in his face and curled up on the bed, burying her face in the pillows. They smelled of him, Christ, he was _everywhere_. She chucked the pillows from the bed and lay prostrate on her side of the mattress.

It was quiet again, but this time for longer. Ten minutes past, then twenty, a half hour. No noises came from the flat, nothing but the faint sounds of cars on the street and the soft padding of her fiancé walking about the living room. Why, why, _why_ did she agree to marry that man?

The door clicked open after a long time, light from the outer room spilled onto the floor. The mattress dipped and there was a gentle hand on her back. "Are you awake, love?"

Molly turned her head to look at him. He looked pained and just as disheveled as before. "Leave me alone."

"No. I've come with a peace offering." He reached his hand up to remove her hair tie, smoothing her long chestnut hair down her back. "I'm sorry, about what I said. I wasn't being completely honest with you."

"I knew that much."

"I…sit up for me, please? I feel like I'm talking to the back of your head."

She sighed and propped herself up, not wanting to look him directly in the eye. His comments still stung, stung deep and stung fiercely.

"I'm sorry, Molly, I really am. I don't want you working with the Yard because it's dangerous—"

"I'm a grown woman, Sherlock; I can take care of myself."

"And I know that, _how_ I know that. You're the one who picked me up from that concrete, saved me from my own demise. I know what you're capable of; I just can't help but worry. It's human, I guess, something human I'm fully experiencing for the first time. I think of all the worst case scenarios and I panic because—"

He looked down into her face, panicked and nervous. It was one of the few times she'd ever seen him unsure of himself. "Because I love you, and I need you, and now that I have you, I'm not sure what I'd do with myself without you. So please don't see my anger as disbelief in your abilities, but rather as fear, fear of losing something…important to me."

"I think that was more meaningful then your original confession of love."

His worry faded and he chuckled. "I was half-drunk covered in frosting and champagne. Anything is more heartfelt than _that_."

"I enjoyed it."

"You were _sober_." His face went back to a solemn expression and he looked down. "I'd understand if you're still upset with me, but I'd like to…to hold you a minute, for reassurance."

"Most awkward man I've ever met." She crawled from her position into his lap, laying her head on his chest. His arms encircled her as they had done so many times before, holding her to him.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm so sorry, Molly."

"It's kind of nice you care so much, even though it's so suffocating." She kissed his neck. "I love you too."

"Promise you won't leave me for all these insensitive things I do?"

"If you promise to marry me soon."

"Deal."


End file.
